


Not Until I Say

by MelaphyreX



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Copia's White Suit, Dry Humping, Frottage, Light Dom/sub, Mild Overstimulation, Orgasm Control, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing, i just think subby begging copia is quite the concept, make the rat beg more pls, not white for long, sub!Copia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29754516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelaphyreX/pseuds/MelaphyreX
Summary: You catch Copia in the middle of a compromising position and have your way with him against a mirror.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28





	Not Until I Say

**Author's Note:**

> started out as a drabble but it ended up kind of long so it's its own work now, still very much without plot or purpose other than HORNY GRRRRGRGRRGRGRR. he's the only person or character in existence i am actually sexually attracted to, yall, let me have this one. homophobic he isnt real honestly

Upon entering Copia’s room, you find him standing there, wearing his white suit, admiring his figure in the full length mirror that stood against the wall. He freezes when you make eye contact through the reflection, visibly unsure whether or not to be embarrassed that you caught him in such a compromising position.

You smirk and stride across to him, before he can get the chance to turn around and greet you face to face. “Hello, love,” you say, grabbing onto his shoulders. He stiffens at the gesture but softens when you tuck your head into the corner of his neck and rub gentle circles into his muscles.

“H-hello,” he replies, tone uneven.

You lift your eyes up to look at him, and his breath halts when he recognizes the lustful intent in your gaze. The noticeable beginnings of an erection strain at the seam of his pants, and you wonder if it’s from you catching him or from him checking himself out beforehand. Either possibility is acceptable, and part of you hopes it’s the latter. 

You slide your left hand down to loosely wrap around his throat, stroking at his jawline with your thumb. While you weren't too much taller than him, the difference was enough to satisfy you with its advantage. You press your lips against his ear and whisper as breathily as you can. “Need a hand,” you ask, feeling him curl in on himself from the tickle of your voice. 

Copia draws in a shaky breath, as if expecting this one to be his last for a while, but you both know you will not squeeze any tighter. Your hand is only there as a claim. A simple reminder. “Please,” he stammers, leaning back into your chest. 

You smile and remove your right hand from his shoulder to relocate on his waist. There, you linger a moment, stroking over the soft, textured fabric of his jacket with your fingers. By the way he breathes and squirms back into your hips, you can tell he’s growing impatient for what he knows is coming, but unlike him, you're not eager to rush this. You plan to enjoy every second. 

You caress over his stomach and briefly grope your fingers into his slight pudge. He sucks in his stomach when you graze where underbelly meets pelvis. He's ticklish there, which brings you delight every time you can use it against him. He makes eye contact with you through the mirror, eyes hooded and mouth parted. There’s a silent “please” on his lips. 

Such a simple word, yet so powerful. Few things please you like the way Copia is so quick to beg, when “please” is the only thing he can sputter out. You almost can't wait to hear his pleas turn from full words to desperate, barely coherent babblings. This is motivation enough for you to pick up the pace on your teasing. 

You slide your hand down to the waistband of his pants, teasing a finger down between tight fabric and soft skin, and you can feel his anticipation in the way he breathes. He almost moans, until you pull your hand up and slip it underneath his jacket, running your fingers through the sparse hairs on his abdomen and trailing up to his chest. Instead he whines in disappointment, but you quickly turn that into a soft gasp by pinching one of his nipples. 

Beneath your palm, his heart beats heavily and steadily, which makes you sigh and relax into him. He seems to take this as an opportunity because he reaches his hands back to grasp at you, finding your thighs. This won't do.

You drop your hand from his throat and grab the crease between his thigh and hip, pulling his ass back into your crotch while you push his upper body forward with your chest. This takes him off guard and he loses his balance, flailing forward into the mirror, crying out. He manages to catch and clutch both sides of the wooden frame for support, but his forehead is left to meet the glass with a faint plap. 

His heartbeat under your palm quickens, and you sigh, grinding up into his ass and finding satisfaction in the way it makes him pant for air. His erection is straining now. You meet his gaze again, and even in the shadow, his white eye seems to glow, blown wide with surprise and want. 

For a minute you continue to rub against him and lose yourself in your own pleasure while he trembles against the mirror. Both your hands find their way to his thighs where you take your time and explore the dips and curves of ample flesh. 

“T-touch me, p-please,” Copia begs.

To which you reply, _“I am touching you,”_ followed by a firm thrust of your hips into his backside that makes him cave further against the mirror. You squeeze your nails into his thighs for emphasis. 

“N-not there.” 

You pause and turn your mouth into his ear again. “Then where?” You know the answer but it's much more fun to draw it out of him. Subtly, you inch your right hand closer to his inner thigh. He shudders, turning his body slightly as if seeking to shift your hand closer to his groin. You yank his hips back into yours and still him. “Where?” you repeat.

“My cock,” he gasps out, followed by a weak “please.”

“Ahhh,” you grin. “Here.” You finally slide your hand between his legs and trail your fingers down the top of his erection until you wrap your hand around its length through the fabric. With a chuckle, you squeeze him. 

Copia immediately jolts in your grasp, a moan escaping his lips as he squirms against his reflection. “Yes, yes!” 

You stroke your fingers along his cock, focusing particularly around the head where you feel a wet patch forming from his precum. “Did I make you this wet,” you ask, pausing before you continue. “Or does seeing yourself in the mirror turn you on that much?” 

His only response is incoherent, husky and thick, as he ruts against your palm. You turn his groans to whimpers with just another simple squeeze.

“You're very bad at answering my questions, but I think I can answer them for you this time.” You fist your left hand into the back of his hair and press his face against the mirror. “You just think you're so fuckable, don't you?” you growl quietly into his ear. “The idea makes you so horny. That everyone looks at you onstage and wants to fuck you until you're begging to cum, until you can't walk right. And I'm sure you wish they would. Isn't that right?” You tighten your fingers in his hair and thrust your hips up into his ass for emphasis. 

“Y-yes, yes, oh gods yes,” he shudders, the release of more precum soaking through his pants almost instant under your fingers. 

“Everyone lined up for a chance to fuck your sloppy, dripping hole? I’d love to see it.” You thrust again, and he releases a soft, breathy moan. “Should set up a mirror, just like this one. So you can watch yourself fall apart. Watch yourself be used. The Clergy cumslut. I’d make you wear my name so everyone knows who you belong to.”

You catch yourself observing the way his hurried, shallow breaths fog the mirror. Through the condensation, you see Copia staring at you, expectantly, not quite meeting your gaze. Only his white iris is visible, and in it glows the essence of Lucifer himself. All that power possessed by him yet he so readily pushes it aside to submit to you. You can’t help but suck in a breath, relishing that thought. “And I wouldn't let you cum,” you say with a grin. “ Oh no, not until everyone is finished with you, and I get my turn. Not until I say you could.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut and shudders against the mirror. “Please,” he murmurs, face flushed and glistening with sweat. 

“‘Please’ what?”

He re-opens his eyes slowly and looks into yours through the mirror. “P-please, let me cum. Please, say I can.”

You tilt your head at him, a soft smile spreading across your features. “Well, since you asked nicely, soon perhaps.” With every following touch you give him, he ruts back into you, trying to provide you some pleasure in return, perhaps. “Hold still,” you command, tapping his hip. He obeys without a word. You adjust his cock in his pants (which prove more stretchy than expected) until you're able to wrap your hand around it and stroke in earnest, thumbing over the tip each time you twist up. 

Copia always manages to surprise you with how much more desperate and horny he can sound, and this time is no different, as he moans effeminately, writhing against the mirror, his hands searching against the glass for something that could not be found. And that makes your insides burn and twist. You could get off on the noises he makes alone.

“Are you close?” you whisper, when he struggles to hold back the bucking of his hips.

He nods urgently. 

“Are you going to cum?”

“No,” he whines, folding in on himself ever so slightly. 

“When will you cum?”

“W-whenever you say” he chokes out. 

You can feel the beads of pre soaking into his pants and spreading through your rapid strokes. He's so close that he's almost beyond the point of being able to hold back, but you give an extra moment's hesitation before giving the command anyway. “You may cum now.”

He practically sobs in relief, cock jerking between your fingers as he cums, squirting his seed through the taut, wet fabric, and sending beads of it down his crotch and thighs. His breathes come in gasps and his fists curl against the mirror which he slumps against more and more each second. 

You don’t stop stroking him until his moans turn to overstimulated whimpers, and he slumps the rest of the way when you let him go. “Now what do you say?” you ask him. 

He turns around in your arms until your noses are touching. “Thank you,” he breathes. You twitch your nose from the tickle of his breath and his mustache, struggling to not break into a giggle. 

“You’re welcome. As always, love.” You comb your fingers through his damp hair, tilting your head so your lips hover against his. He’s the first one to move in the rest of the way, meeting your lips with a tenderness and gratitude you’d come to expect. You tighten your fingers in his hair, only gently, and it is not very long before he has to pull back to catch his still fleeting breath. 

Gazing into each other’s eyes, you both say nothing, just content to enjoy the moment, until he finally speaks up. “So…” Copia starts. “Do you think we can do that ‘everyone lines up to fuck me’ thing at my next ritual?”

You only laugh.


End file.
